
■■■ r yii ■ 



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BY M 



& O X, L E G 1 A St* 



CHARLOTTESVILLE* VA. ■: 

PUBLISHED BY C. P. M'KENNIE, 

PRINTED BY D, DEANS AND CO. 

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TO ONE, 

WHO, ABOVE AIL OTHERS, 

SHOULD RECEIVE THIS HUMBLE TOKEN 

OF GBATITUBE AND RESPECT; 

«NE ALIKE ESTEEMED EOR HIS VIRTUES, 

AND ADMIRED EOR HIS TALENTS : 

TO HIS FATHER, 

THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED 

BY AN AFFCTIONATE SON. 



[Page 77, second line from top, for So graven on hu 
lovely face — read To graven on her lovely face, ]. 



COM TENTS. 



-vw<y» vw— 



PAGE. 

Preface ----- 7 

To my Country - 9 

Pompeii 14 

Thou hast been to the Land - - 17 

Nature's Music 19 

Castle Building 21 

The Hurricane - - - 24 

The Indian's Complaint 26 

Evening - - . - - 29 

To - - - 31 

Stanzas ----- 34 

To — — — 36 

Ties - - - - . - - 39 
Lines occasioned by the anticipated fall 

of Constantinople - - 41 

To Isabel » • - - - 44 

The Estranged - - - - 46 



VI. CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

To a Bird heard at break of day - 48 

" Atheist" - - - - 51 

Stanzas ----- 53 

David 54 

To a Humming Bird 56 

To ... 59 

To a Lady ----- 64 

]Ni^HT ------ 67 

Nunc Tempus 69 

Love 71 

" All is not Gold that Glistens" - 79 

Song of Pleasure - - - 81 

Midnight ----- 83 

The True Philosophy 86 

Written at College 88 

Musings ----- 90 

Greece ----- 92 

A Modern Poet to his Mistress - 94 



PREFACE, 



The greater portion of the articles comprised in 
tins volume has heen published in the journals of 
the day. In presenting them to the public in their 
present form, the author has not been misled by 
any undue estimate of their merits. He has been 
©nly desirous to leave among those who have taken 
an interest in his welfare, and with whom he has 
been in habits of daily intercourse, a slight memo- 
rial of himself, ere more important duties urge their 
claims to consideration. 

Nearly all the present poems were written be- 
tween the ages of sixteen and nineteen ; and although, 
among those who are disposed to view his efforts 

B 



8 PKEFACB. 

with an approving eye, this circumstance may re* 
ceive its merited weight ; the author does not wish 
to be understood as supposing it will constitute an 
exemption from censure where deserved, or as an 
apology to the world for any defects they may con^ 
tain. He is aware that such considerations can 
never justly be made the cloak of ignorance or ina^ 
bility, or furnish an excuse for obtruding upon the 
public what probably should have been suffered to 
remain in obscurity. He hopes therefore that his 
motives in undertaking the present publication will 
be correctly appreciated, and that this statement of 
his youth will not be considered as made in anti- 
cipation of critical lenity, or as an excuse for the 
many imperfections of his volume. 

From the two articles, "Lines occasioned by 
the anticipated fall of Constantinople," and "The 
Indian's Complaint," the author intends no in- 
ference to be drawn in regard to his politics 1 sen^ 
timents. The subjects of both were considered ap- 
propriate for poetry, and in that light only were 
used. 

Many of the pieces, as was observed, have been 
before published. Since then the titles of some 
have been changed, and additions made to others, 



T© MY COUNTRY, 



'*:< 



To thee, who standest as a child in age 

Amid the nations now, 

Yet round whose monarch brow 
Is bound the wreath of never-dying glory — 
Thee, who hadst freedom for thy heritage, 
Yet boast'st no deeds in laurel'd minstrel's story, 
In whose pure realm and simple clime 

The pomp of courts, and pride, and kingly grace 

Ne'er found a dwelling place, 
To thee I tune my lay, thou proudest work of Time ! 



10 TO MY COUNTRY. 

II. 

War pealed his clarion, and embattled myriads came 
To crush thee in their might, 
With spear and corslet glittering bright, 
And vengeful brow as black as night; 
With golden banners haughtily unfurled, 
As though they marched to conquest o'er a world ; 
Yet thou wast still the same. 
They came like a cloud in the might of its wrath, 
Which the demon of death marshals on in its path ; 
Or like the dread siroc that sweeps o'er the sands, 
Where the desert lifts up its parched face to the sun, 
With hate in their hearts, and with blades in their 

hands, 
Ere they struck they had vowed that the battle was 
won. 

They came, but little did they know, 
Those men of pomp, and pride, and show, 
How firm the heart that fights for life 
Can keep in an unequal strife ; 
And little did they heed the breath 
That cried, " On, on, for freedom or to death!" 
They came — they quailed beneath thy glance, 
Threw down each broken sword and splintered lance, 
And stood a palsied nation in a trance ! 
In blood was writ thy scroll of fame, 
In tyrant's blood — a nation's shame, 



,S 3F0 MY COUNTRY. 11 

The proudest that the world could claim, 
Was graved by thee on History's page, 

And thou hast gained by it a name 

That will exist through every future age. 

in. 

Empires have mouldered into ruin — Rome 

Has mingled all her greatness with the clay 

Of her seven hills ; no longer now the home 

Of valor and of virtue she remains, 

With what of life-blood courses thro' her veins, 

A vestige of her glory in the olden day. 

Carthage, and Athens, and Palmyra — where, 

'Mid storied pillar, urn and monument, 

On which the genius of the earth was spent, 

The tiger and the leopard make their lair ; 

And Thebes, have lived and died, and passed away ; 

Yet thou wilt live till time shall be no more, 

Till the last trump may peal along thy shore ; 

For thou art like a rock built citadel, 

Made time-proof where the tempests dwell. 

IV. 

Thy-sons— a bright and marshaled band 
Of Roman stamp — around thee stand, 
As warm of heart and quick of hand, 
M 2 



12 tfo My cOuntrt?. 

As men of olden day ; 
And should a breath against thy name, 
A charge against thy well-earned fame, 
Be heard — each soul is nerved, each heart is flame, 

In blood to wipe the stain away ! 



Thy daughters— ne'er in eastern clime* 
That land of love, and sin, and crime, 
Whose shattered ruins feebly tell 
The ills her race have known too well ; 
That land, than in whose soil the brave 
Could once have found no holier grave > 
The history of whose hapless race, 
Thro* blood and tears we dimly trace ; 
The glories of whose brighter day 
Like morning mists have passed away; 
While mental slavery lingers there 
To curse the few whom death may spare ; 
Yet where bright maids of angel mould, 
Their beauties to the sight unfold, 
Set there man's cheerless lot to bless — 
— An Eden in some wilderness — 
The hue of whose clear laughing eyes 
Can fear no rival but her skies, 
The beauty of whose ruby lip 
Might tempt the bee its dew to sip ; 



TO MY COUNTRY. 13 

Wliose long and curling golden hair, 
Floats like a sunset cloud in air ; 
The light of whose unshaded brow, 
Can make e'en mailed monarchs how ; 
Thy daughters— in that clime, we say, 
No fairer maids are found than they ! 

VI. 

Press on, my country — let thy way 

Be guided by the brilliant ray 

That beams from glorious Freedom's star ; 

Let no rash strife or ruthless jar 

Cause thee to leave thy onward track ! 

Bring thou, the erring nations back 

To the true sense of nature's right, 

Despising laws of power and might; — 

And Virtue to thy shrine shall bring 

Her high and holy offering ; 

Content her heavenly home shall leave 

Her chaplet round thy brow to weave ; 

And Plenty scatter round the land 

Her golden sheaves with bounteous hand ! 



POMPEII. 



Years have flown o'er thee, city of the dead, 
And Time hath pinioned still his changeless way, 
As swift and noiseless as a spirit's tread, 
Bringing to all things heauty and decay, 
Since the sun rose upon that sulph'rous day 
When thou wast huried in a fiery sea : 
Yet once again the glorious sunbeams stray 
Down to thy prison'd grandeur — there to be 
Kevealers of thine ancient wealth and luxury. 



POMPEII. 15 

The echo of thy smothering people's cry 
Seems still to linger o'er their lava grave ; 
And, to my fancy, as the winds go by, 
They wail the dirge of heantiful and brave, 
Whom nothing from the fiery death could save,— 
Nor youth, nor beauty, nor the wealth of mind, 
Riches of Ind, nor gems of ocean cave, 
While the few traces they have left behind 
Prove the weak hopes of erring human kind. 

The traveller, as he urged his weary course 
Along thy smiling plains, fair Italy — 
The bandit, as he plied his murderous force, 
— A stain upon thy children's name and thee, — 
Ne'er dream'd that 'neath thy vinyards there 

might be 
A buried city, perfect in its gloom ; 
Nor knew thy peasant, in his harvest glee, 
He used his wine-press on a nation's tomb — - 
How often is death hidden by the brightest bloom ! 

Where are thine ancient glories ? — Writ in sand. 
Where all the trophies of thy might and pride ? 
On human tablets graved, by human hand — 
Such ne'er the mouldering touch of time defied. 
With Rome and Greece in grandeur thou hast 
vied— 



16 POMPEII. 

Yet where is now thy grandeur F—With the dead! 
Thy name and glory may have been allied — 
What boots it ? for thy poets sung and warriors bled 
In vain. Thou and thy glory are a dream— 'tis fled. 



THOU HAST BEEN TO THE LAND, 



Thou bast been to tbe land where tbe lemon trees 

bloom, 

And tbe nightingale sings to the god of perfume ; 
Where clouds bathed in sun-light together are rolled 
Like visions of genii in purple and gold ; 
Where each leaf in the breath from a rose garden 

quivers, 
And the moonbeams lie sleeping on emerald rivers, 

Hast thou brought from that land any token of love, 
A ring, or a bracelet, a jewel or glove ? 
Did young eyes that glowed with the color of night 
Illumine thy path as twin meteors of light ? 



18 THOU HAST BEEN TO THE LAND. 

Were love's words to thine ear in sweet confidence 

given, 
Making Eden of earth ; like a foretaste of Heaven ! 

Hast thou wandered along by the ruins of time, 

In grandeur still clothed amid slavery and crime ?•— - 

Or breathed rich perfumes where the wild flowers 

wave, 
That are nourished by blood upon Liberty's grave, 
In that land, tho' so fair, a meet emblem of sin, 
Whose tinsel can't veil the foul blackness within ? 



Thou hast come, and once more will I jewel my hair, 
And the lute and the seat in the arbour prepare ; 
I'll pluck thee my greenest geranium leaf, 
And recount, since thine absence, each pleasure and 

grief; 
And my lute, which has had such a long, long reprieve, 
Shall echo the song which I sung jou-^that eve! 



NATURE'S MUSIC. 



Where the cataracts roar 'mid the desert hills ? 
Or the earth laughs out from her thousand rills ; 
Where the eagle screams from his splintered crag, 
The clouds unfurled like a gilded flag 
Above where he sits ; or where the gay song 
Of the mock-bird swells tremblingly, loud and long ; 
Where the breezes creep thro' the singing grass, 
Or the oaks moan out as the whirlwinds pass ; 
Where the frosty moon on a winter night 
Gleams down on the ice with her diamond light, 
And the skaiters glide o'er its polished face, 
Wliile it crackles and heaves 'neath their magic 

pace ; 

c 



£0 nature's music. 

And the water chilled in its sluggish flow 

Utters'forth dull sounds in its course below ; 

Where the yellow leaves as they float to earth 

In the autumn time — when the frost has birth — 

Alight on the turf with a rustling sound, 

As the waters make in their pebbly bound ; 

Where the forest rings with the silver cry 

Of the eager pack as it hurries by ; 

Or the chirping sound of dissolving snow, 

As it runs in a gush 'neath the sun's red glow; 

There's Nature's music-— and her harp doth there 

Peal out on the sense with its liveliest air ; 

While its chords for another note are strung, 

For songs of the earth that are yet unsung. 



CASTLE BUILDING. 



When Nature's in her fairest dress, 

Which is to me the summer eve, 
And stars look out in loveliness, 

Forbidding all on earth to grieve ; 
When waters give their sweetest sound, 

And Nature's incense fills the air ; 
When opens Heaven her curtain round 

To show the charms which linger there ; 
9 Tis sweet to walk with one of those, 

The fairest, lightest forms of earth, 
Whom poets liken to the rose, 

Or lily glowing into birth ; 



22 



CASTLE BUIIiDINGc 



With one who hath the mind to look 
Upon these things with bounding soul, 

And read in them as in a book, 

The sympathies which rule the whole-. 

One nigmV—just such a night as this, 

Of which I'm talking to you now — 
The flowers were drinking dew like bliss, 

And peace reposed on Nature's brow ; 
I wandered out with heart all flame, 

As tho' a lava spring were there, 
And she was with me, whose loved name 

E'en now can lay my feelings bare. 
As yet we had not breathed a word — 

My heart beat quick, irregular, 
Like to the wing of a tired bird, 

Come from its summer home afar- — 
But as the eagle in his flight, 

Soars high above all meaner things 
And dives into a sea of light, 

Which o'er his plume its jewels flings ; 
So Love doth rise o'er all its foes, 

And conquer with the thrilling glance, 
Which round the heart a fetter throws- 
Chaining the soul as in a trance- 
Cleaving its way thro' hopes and fears 

To the bright realms Of mutual bliss— 



CASTLE BUILDING. 

Love's antidote for sorrow's tears 

Is its own talismanic kiss. 
And we that night did feel Love's thrill, 

And picture scenes of future joy ; 
Nor dreamed that guile, or hate, or ill 

Could such pure happiness destroy. 

w w w ^F 

But short our hopes were left to build 
Upon the bliss themselves did give ; 

3?or with despair our breasts were filled, 
Almost ere hope had ceased to live* 



'€ £ 



THE HURRICANE. 



Fiercely it rushed in its lightning wrath. 
While the spirit of death hover' d over i1s path. 
From the home of the thunder, the place of the storm^ 
It came, with destruction enrobing its form. 
On the mountain's lone bosom it revelled awhile, 
Lit there the deep forest's funeral pile, 
Then hurrying on, in the pride of its power, 
Seemed sent as though Nature itself to devour, 
And borne far away on the pinions of death, 
Breathed over the earth its desolate breath. — 
Many a spirit was bowed that night, 
That never had quailed in the gory fight; 



THE HURRICANE. 25 

For how can the strife of man compare 

With the battles that rage 'mongst the spirits of air? 

It passed as the blackening surge of death, 

'Whelming all life its dark waters beneath, 

And as it rushed in its terror by, 

Its roar seemed the trump of eternity. 



^THE INDIAN'S COMPLAINT.* 



We must depart ! — And who can say 

How soon our race will pass away ? 

How soon we'll sing our death songs where 

(Our nation's shroud the desert air) 

The western forests sleep in gloom, 

A sombre tho' majestic tomb, 

Fit for a monarch people's rest ; 



* An Act was passed at a late Session of the Congress 
of the U. S., providing for the removal of certain surviving 
Indian Tribes west of the Mississippi River, &c 



THE INDIANS COMPLAINT. 27 

How soon our name and scattered race 
May be a by- word and a jest, 

E'en in our fathers' dwelling place ! 
Here once our council fires arose, 

Unfanned by breath of eastern clime ; 
Here were the graves of hapless foes, 

Memento of a braver time ; 
And here the wild flowers' rich perfumes 
Are wandering o'er our fathers* tombs ! 
Here each bright river murmurs through 
The bowers and shades our mothers knew ; 
While every bud or leaflet tells 
Of home, and all home's magic spells ! 
Our childhood here was laughed away, 
(The passing of an April day) 
Love visioned here his gayest dream, 
Hope charmed it with her brightest beam, 
And here each tree or flower that waves, 
Is nurtured on our fathers' graves ! 
The wild bird breathes as gay a note 

As e'er it did in days of yore, 
Its lays on every breeze still float, 

Yet we shall hear those lays no more ! 
The diamond sprinkled heavens, at night, 
Are still as blue and richly bright, 
Yet we in other skies afar 
Must seek some brighter guiding star ! 



28 the Indian's complaint. 

The land of our forefathers' fame, 
But to their sons a land of shame, 
We leave for one we dread to name- 
White man ! you have the power, the will ! 
You'll have jour recompence of ill ! 



EVENING. 



Evening is stealing with her nectared breath, 

Slowly and calmly down to kiss each flower 

That pouteth in rich beauty from beneath 

Its emerald colored guardians — the bright leaves-— 

('Tis strange what solace brings that magic hour 

To every heart that hopes, or loves, or grieves — 

It is the fitting time for fervent prayer, 

Which rises holily on kindred air — 

For then the air is holy — 'tis the time 

For love — the only time to gaze and die 

Beneath the lustre of a diamond eye ; 

Yet strange to tell, it is the hour for crime !) 

In golden majesty the glorious sun. 



30 EVENING. 

With light too pure for eye to gaze upon* 
Is sinking slowly in the gorgeous west — 
A monarch going proudly to his rest.~- 
He's gone, and mellow twilight creeps along 
As gently as the cadence of a song, — 
Twilight, to whom each poet in his day, 
Hath breathed melodious and impassioned lay* 
While o'er his soul thy witchery was stealing, 
As sweetly as the whispered tones of feeling. 

Evening — 'tis then the o'er fraught heart doth pour 

Its wealth of pious incense at the shrine 

Of deity — the spirit then may soar 

Into those regions where the angels twine 

Wreaths for the glorious of our earthly race ;—* 

*Tis then that we can see, and feel, and trace 

His glory in the realms of starry space! 



TO 



Years, with their weight of joy and care,. 

Have gone like shadows by, 
Since first I knew thy hird-3ike voice ; 

And loved thine ehon eye ; 
And days, which pass as sunlight 

From the breakings of a cloud, 
Bring to the scenes no lethe draught 

Which on my memory crowd. 

I knew thee in the summer time 

With its wealth of bud and blossom, 

And have plucked the sweet mouthed violet 
To wreathe upon thy bosom, 



TO 



And hunted many a wildwood dell, 

With joy I now confess, 
In search of Ih ing perfumes 

To bind thy raven tress. 

And when the stars were breathing out 

Their holy light to earth, 
And diamonding the glad blue sky 

For the young moon's queenly birth, 
I've gazed upon some lovely one, 

And thought that it might be 
A glorious home in the afterworld, 

In which to live with thee. 

And my heart has throbbed with ecstacy 
To catch thy mellow glance, 

And feel thy soft hand's pressure, 
As I've turned thee in the dance ; 

And I've watched thy speaking features, 
As the music's rich note came 

On the sense with its gush of melody, 
Or burned in its tone of flame. 

And when the flatterer's painted words 
Were breathed into thine ear, 

Have scanned thy bright eye anxiously 
To see how thou wouldst hear; 









TO 



And thy lightest tone would thrill me, 

As by a magic spell 

But the feelings I have had for thee. 

Words can but faintly tell ! 



But 'tis enough — I would not bring 

B ack to thy memory now 
A single thought to give thee pain, 

Or shade thy noble brow ; 
For the love I once did bear thee, 

Thy faults I'll not relate, 
And though I ne'er can love again, 

Be sure I ne'er can hate. 



STANZAS. 



Where rest the bones of millions — where the grave 
Has swallowed up embattled myriads, go ! 

With eye undaunted look beneath the wave — 
With fearless footstep tread the Alpine snow I 

Sit at Palmyra, in a pillar's shade- 
Tread on the dust of Thebes' hundred gates — 

Hear the wind howl thro' some long colonnade, 
Where once trod those who held an empire's fates ! 

List to the surge that foaming washes o'er 
The sands where mighty Pompey's bones were laid, 

Then walk those streets where spirits did deplore 
The debt wiiich soon his mightier rival paid ! 



STANZAS. 35 



Beneath a willow in Helena's isle, 

Sit on a grass-grown tumulus ! — then say, 

u Man, and his pride and power exist awhile, 
u But soon into the past like shadows die away. 



>B '2 



"TO 



Memory ! Memory I—'tis like the talismaft 
We read of in the page of Eastern story, 
That magi used the inmost soul to scan 
Of friends or foes ; or oft mayhap to call 
From his bright crystal, gold, or diamond hall, 
Some brother in his supernatural glory— 
The talisman of feeling, that doth bring 
Back on the heart the deeds of other days, 
With all their dark or glorious colouring— 
The wizard of the soul, whose wand can rak« 
The disembodied spirits of the dead 



to . ST 

Palpable as it were to touch j — impress 

The face of such as long ago have fled 

Into their state of holy blessedness, 

Upon the mind. And sometimes, love, it shows 

Bright glimpses of the past — shadows of bliss, 

Like fiittings of an angel's wing in dreams— 

The memory of our love — so bright, it seems 

As of another world— too pure for this ! 

Sweet love, those days may yet return — who knows ? 

One night — -you recollect that night- 
There was a festival among the stars, 
They had put on theii -jewelled robes, and shone 
Each like a monarch on his saphire throne, 
And each did nobly act a monarch's part, 
"While 'neath their beams the waters glanced as bright 
As gleam in battle Turkish cimetars. 
'Twas to do homage to the young new moon. 
Their queen — perhaps to you, my love— how soon 
To change and change again, like — —-woman's heart* 
Well, well, you recollect the night ? and sky ? ■• 
"'Twas such as poets say they have, alone, 
In that soft land, which men call Italy ;-— 
''Tis no such thing— by Jove! I'd scarce give oue 
Of old Virginia's skies — that is, in June, 
When nature revels 'neath the "harvest moon"— 
For twenty such ; nor e'er believe the man 
Telling sach tales of skies Italian ! 



^8 *fo ** 

And don't you recollect how you did rest 
Your head upon my arm, and whisper low 
Into mine ear the feelings of your breast, 
And how I motioned you to talk them slow, 
They were so grateful ? And how I plucked a kiss 
From the ripe coral of thy melting lip, 
For every love you murmured ? and the bliss 
Which passionate, uncorrupted, I did sip 
From off their cherried pouting, and— don't blush-"- 
You need not — 'twas the first warm, fervent gush 
Of warm first love ! — and how I gazed, and looked 
Into that rich dark eye of thine, till sight 
Was palled with lustre ? Then I could have brooked 
Aught, ere ceased gazing on its mellow light — 
And that dark hair of -thine, which fell and wreathed 
Adown thy shoulders as an angel tress, 
How it was stirred by the low sighs we breathed, 
As hearts that undulate with happiness ? 

Enough ! you needs must recollect full well — - 
/see, Jfeel it now, by wizard Memory's spelL 



TIES. 



The earth is full of hidden spells, 

To weave around the soul ; 
The sunny skies- — old ocean's cells, 

And the waves that o'er them roll ; 
While every zephyr whispering tells 

Of nature's deep control. 

The soul hath ties in the mountain breeze. 
In the charms of a summer sky ; 

In wandering along 'neath budding trees 
By the light of a laughing eye ; 

Or living in isle of Indian seas, 
Where perfumes wanton by. 



40 TIES. 

And ties it hath in each lone! y grove, 

In the rage of an angry wave ; 
It hath ties in the many spells of love ; 

It hath ties in the dreary grave — 
The grave, to which all downward move, 

The beautiful, the brave. 

Love sits upon an ivory brow, 

And sleeps in a wreathing tress, 
Looks out from an eye with a diamond's glow, 

In holy joyousness ; 
Which charms away the pang of woe, 

The heart with hope to bless. 

*Tis the deepest tie — for it chains the mind, 

Like a fairy's 'chanted wand ; 
It holds e'en giant forms confined, 

Hath worlds at its command, 
And in its silken folds doth bind 

The bright of every land. 



LINES OCCASIONED BY THE ANTICI- 
PATED FALL OF CONSTANTINOPLE.* 



i. 

Thy plumes are ruffled now, proud bird ! 
O'er land and ocean, forest, solitude, 
The echo of thy last, sad shriek is heard! — 
The glance of majesty 
Is quailing now from thy fierce eye, 

And the deep wailing of thy scattered brood 
Is dying to a murmur. Sadly dark 



* These lines' were written on receiving intelligence that 
the Russian army was on its march to that capital in the 
summer of 1829. 



4£ XINES OCCASIONED BY THE ANTICIPATED 

Is thy soiled plumage, and thy gilded crest 

Has fallen—so often fall the loftiest and the best. 
Hark! 
To the tread of the devouring foe ! — ■ 
But ere thou art laid low, 
Shall not one last avenging blow 

Be struck ? Rouse thee, proud bird ! 
Thy voice of triumph 'mid the nations, yet 
May swell from mosque and minaret — 

May with the bravest and the first be heard ! 

ii. 

Stamboul! proud city of the East! 

Sister of Homo ! — old mistress of a world — 
Wilt thou from thy high state be hurled? 
Shall not thy sinewy arm be strung 
With its accustomed power? — at least 
Gird on thy mail, and let thy dirge, 
If thou must die, upon the battle's verge, 
Amid the shock of arms, be sung! 



in. 

The tread of armies gathering around 
A nation's grave, 

One, proud 'mongthe proudest, 'mid the bravest 
brave, 



FALL OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 43 

Comes like the rush of waters from afar. 
Peals with an echo thro' thy forest halls^ 
Great Europe ! and there calls, 

Amid thy peopled solitudes, a voice, 
A deep, imploring sound, 
Begging thy strength against the hloody Czar, 
Where he and his red myrmidons rejoice, 
Gloating upon the savage charms of war. 

IV. 

And shouldst thou fall, great city — should the wind 

Be burthened with thy dust, 
Tho' not a trace he left behind 
Of where thou standest now, 

On History's page there will he — ay, there must 
Be w T oven Memory's brightest wreath, 
With flow'rs that flourish'd 'neath Fame's 
breath, 
To bind thy gallant brow I 



F, 






TO ISABEL. 



Where sweeps the wanton zephyr with a slow 
And gentle motion o'er the waving grass, 
That moves beneath it as a thing of life ; 
Where bend the wild flowers to its lambent kiss, 
Hanging their heads and blushing as a girl 
When her heart's idol whispers in her ear ; 
Where the pink clover blossoms peep from out 
The rich green leaves that half conceal their hue, 
Like sprigs of coral in a Nereid's hair ; 
I'll walk alone and think of thee my love, 
Swearing thy cheeks glow brighter than the rose, 
Which pouts in gaudy richness to mine eye ; 



TO ISABEL. 54 

And that thy voice hath more of melody 
Than that of yellow breasted lark, who sings 
His evening love-song from yon leafy hough. 
And then I'll stroll beside the crystal brook, 
Counting the pebbles for a lack of thought, 
Until the blue of heaven, reflected from 
The stream, reminds me of thy beaming eye, 
Which doth surpass in richness that pure blae ; 
Its glances too, I'll dare to think as bright 
And sparkling as the day god's golden rays, 
Which gild the ripples on the water's face ; 
Then as thy charms together fill my mind, 
I'll breathe in song the ardor of my love. 



THE ESTRANGED. 



On a foreign shore his grave was made, 
And none were there to love him ; 

hi a foreign land his corse was laid, 
With the bright blue sky above him. 

With a careless mein they laid him there, 
Far far from the friends of his bosom, 

For his breast was now cold as the winter air. 
And his heart like a withered blossom. 

The stranger men, they heaved no sigh, 

And shed no tear of pity, 
But moved away as carelessly, 

As the men of a crowded city. 



THE ESTRANGED. 47 

In after time no maidens came 

To strew Ins grave with roses, 
And on the plain stone is graved no name, 

Where the hapless youth reposes. 

And there he lies neglected still, 

With his brightest deeds unspoken ; 
And none there be who e'er could tell 

How his heart and hopes were broken. 



is 2 



TO A BIRD HEARD AT BREAK OF DAY. 



-WWW— i 



It was a happy morning — twilight's gloom 
Formed a faint contrast to the waning star, 
Whose mellow richness came like silver down 
Upon — — 's shadowed brow. The crescent queen 
Was gliding slowly to her curtained rest, 
Attended by her handmaids of the sky, 

And as the last beam glowed upon 's tress, 

'Twas ambered lustre on a raven's wing. — 
The sky, the air, the very earth was still ; 
The majesty of nature was abroad, 
And incense from earth's petaled censers rose 
A meet and silent homage to His power. 



TO A BIRD HEARD AT BREAK OF DAY. 49 

It was a morning such as Love might choose 

To hold his court — the Love, I mean, who dwelt 

In fancies of the old philosophers, — 

Or such an one as faithless Helen took 

To trust love's guidance with her guilty boy. — 

Well, well, but I have wandered— it is strange 

How the still beauty of a jeweled sky, 

As now, can win me from my theme ; or how 

My errant thoughts will mutiny, as when 

A dear old aunt once lectured me, I thought, 

On Isabel's first kiss, and w T ept — good soul ! 

She deemed her homilies had done their work. 

It was a glorious morn, and we must part ! 
O Time ! one moment stay your flight, we prayed — 
Another, but another ! — Time flew on. 

It came, like sunshine to a captive's eye, 

Or as the perfume from a violet bank, 

Bracing a sick man's frame ; or any thing 

On earth of rich, or pure, or beautiful, 

That strikes the mind with its most wonted rareness,, 

That mellow note of thine, my unseen bird ! 

Sorrow may come upon the heart — despair 

May almost claim it — yet there is a spell 

In all the untaught harmonies of earth, 

A charm in nature's simple melodies, 

Whether of bird, or bee, or leafy songs, 



50 TO A BIRD HEARD AT BREAK OF DAY. 

Or noise of running waters, that can bring 

Man to Ills noble bearing back, and cheer 

The soul, as moisture doth a desert plant. — 

Thy note, sweet bird, was like an angel's note. 

Or fairy lute from hayacinthine bed, 

■As its rich volume wandered from the buds 

Of my young sister's fragrant lemon tree, 

And bore unto my drooping spirit hope 

That we should meet again— I can't tell why — 

Such fantasies will crowd upon my brain — 

That oft-times I am half inclined to think 

I have a poet's soul— and this was one — - 

But no, it cannot be— the stern old page 

Of legal lore will stoop my spirit down 

To all the dull realities of life, 

Bringing life's cares without life's poetry. — 

I've wandered once again — fie truant thoughts !- 

Sweet bird, I thank thee fop thy song. 



The accompanying sketches were found in an envelope, 
among some old papers, endorsed with the word 

"ATHEIST." 



-Pale as a statue of Despair, 
Yet still most brightly, calmly fair ; 
With an eye in which volcanoes slept, 
Though for distress that eye had wept ; 
And a look in which deep scorn was writ, 
So deep that you might not gaze on it ; 
With a lip that an angel might deign to press 
Yet a lip that was curled in haughtiness ; 
And a face that mirrored grief and .care, 
In vspiteof the scorn which lingered there | — 
The lady sate. Through the lattice came 
The breeze, that to her was a breath of flame ; 



52 ATHEIST. 

And the river that softly glided below, 

So soft that sweet music breathed out in its flow, 

Was to her as a fabled river of wo ; 

While the balmy and holy air of even 

Seemed rather of hell than a breath from Heaven : 

Yet she was so sternly beautiful, 

With her scornful but majestic eye, 
That your very sense might e'en grow dull 

In scanning such a mystery. 

With a flashing red glare from his blood-shot eye, 

And a scornful glance at the passers by — 

His brow darkly shaded by care and pain, 

Where was swelling with pride each purple vein— 

With a regal stride in his haughty gait, 

And a face that looked wan and disconsolate, — 

The stranger passed. What means the stern glare 

Flashing out from beneath his shaggy hair ? 

Why doth he cast on each face a look 

As though he were reading a printed book ? 

And as he stalks through the peopled street, 

Why doth each passenger dread to meet 

His earnest gaze ? And why is this dread, 

As if he wero of the risen dead ? 

And who is he ? — A man, alone, 

Who has reared in his mind a blackened throne 

Where the demon of self doth sit and reign, 

And scoff at the work of his Maker's pain ! 



STANZAS. 



? Tis said that the heart thro' long absence forgets 

The love of its earlier hours ; 
But ah ! who can say that it ever regrets 

Time spent with that love in her bowers ? 

? Tis said that the memory seldom will stray 
To the scenes of our young love back, 

For the roses that bloomed in our joyous way 
Have withered and hidden the track. 

Yet tho' in the days of maturer affection, 
The heart does consider its young love lightest, 

It cannot resist the intense recollection 

Of pleasures, tho' vague, that were sweetest and 
brightest. 






DAVID, 



■v\vwv— 



King David knelt. 

Rich perfumes played around, 
Rising luxuriantly up from flowers, 
That droopingly bent down their heads, as grieved 
To part from their rich spirit of existence ; 
Yet that was not the cause, for pestilence 
Was out upon the land, and its hot breath 
Came siiHingly upon the sense like death, 
Q? languor caused by slowiy working drug. 
The song of birds from many a gaudy clime, 
That fluttered in their tiny palaces, 
Rose not upon the ear as free and full 






DAVID 55 

As when it cheered a Prince's dalliance hour, 
For clammy fever burthened every note ; 
And e'en the very jewels lacked the bright 
And varied lustre of their native mines — 
So deadly was that breath of pestilence ! 

The diadem had fallen from his head, and lay 
As if in mockery of its owner's state- — 
His hands were clasped so earnestly that blood 
Oozed out from 'neath each jewelled hoop of gold, 
Making the rubies redder, while large drops — 
■ — Like drops of agony — stood on his brow. — 
Not thus upon the battle field he smote, 
In youthful might, the mailed one of Gath 5— 
The victor's flush was now usurped by wan 
And pallid aspect — O ! he was bowed down ! 
And David prayed ! — Even as an infant's prayer— 
— That holier whisper than an Angel's brj^jth — 
Which floats to Heaven in purity at morn, 
Or when the stars are out, looking as bright 
As tho' they shone upon a sinless world, 
So rose the Monarch's prayer— most holily— 
For was it not the prayer of penitence ?•— 
Long and most deep the struggle ! — Yet he rose 
With lightened hnart; and ere the sun went down 
The dreadful plague was stayed, and from that hour, 
He walked a better ami a holier man. 



TO A HUMMING BIRD, 



Bird of the bright enameled wing, 
That seemest scarce a thing of earth, 
From any mortal source did'st spring, 

Or did some fairy give thee birth, 
And thou the work of sportive hour, 
Wast made to show her fairy power ? 

Oft I hear your humming sound. 
When seated in a rural bower, 
As you take your morning round, 
Sipping each delicious flower, 
And then your hum doth seem to me 
The sound of sweetest melody. 



TO A HUMMI1CG BIRD. 5 7 



The nightingale of boasted lay 
Trolls her dull song on summer night. 
But more I lo^e the summer day 
That brings me thee of heart so light, 
F or unto thee it doth belong, 
To gather nectar with a song. 

When sets the sun in splendor bright, 
And burnishes the western sky, 
Just ere its orb gives way to night, 
I love to see the twittering fly 
From honeysuckle to jasmine sweet, 
Around most tremulously fleet ; — 

And then where'er thy glittering crest 
Doth intercept a dying ray, 
In all thy brightest colors drest, 
Thou lookest the servant of a fay, 
Come down from her aerial bowers 
To cull for her the choisest flowers ! 



[The following lines were found, many years after his 
death, in the escrutoire of a venerable, but melancholic 
gentleman, who was much given to indulgence at the csena- 
torial meal. He had been heard to make strange noises 
in his sleep, and certain uncanonical exclamations to which 
he at times, gave utterance, suggested the belief that, 
during that interval of passive existence, he had strong 
contentions with some real or imaginary cause of inquie- 
tude ; but whether his sufferings were of a mental or phy- 
sical nature, was never distinctly ascertained. These 
lines were supposed to have been written shortly after a 
more than usually severe struggle with his nocturnal tor- 
mentor, and while laboring under the state of depression 
consequent on his exertions. Whether they referred to 
any passage in his life, or were the promptings of a dis- 
tempered fancy, was never known, as his youth was spent 
in a foreign land. 

By dint of active enquiry and investigation, however, we 



to . 59 

have been enabled to find a single circumstance which 
may possibly throw light upon the origin of these singular 
lines. It appears from a half-worn miscellaneous journal 
book of the old gentleman's landlady, that about the pe- 
riod, which the verses bear date, she received from the 
good city of New York an invoice of pickled lobster, and 
some other piscatory edibles, well calculated for experi- 
ments in the abstruse science of gastrodynamics.] 



TO 



I have had dreams of wild romance^ 

Too high for human means to know ; 
The burning spell of beauty's glance ? 

The rich lip's pure and coral glow ? — 
No — these are human, and I've clung 

With madness to thy Ihrilling kiss, 
And could (and did I not ?) have flung 

To earth my hopes for that wild bliss. 
It was not this ! — though like a form 

Of angel mould, a dying man 
¥ou might to sense and being warm — ■ 

It was not this !— the talisman, 

F S 



CO TO -. 

Which threw my spirit at your feet, 

And called my fancy's visions up, 
With such unearthly hues replete — 

The foolish dream which dashed my cup, 
Was that your bright form had a soul. 

You may have loved me — yes, you did ; 
I once had o'er your heart control ;— 

Dost recollect how you have hid 
Your glowing features in my breast, 
And how I've kissed you to your rest ? 

Dost recollect that glorious night 
When the stars held their carnival, 

And the glad heaven was jeweled quite, 
And dew like joy on flowers did fall, 

And how thy tears upon my hand, 
Warm tears of bliss were calmly shed ?— 

I sealed the bond of union — and — 
Away ! — those scenes have fled. 

1 had a fever once ; — my brain 
And very blood did boil again ; 
Life was a bUrtuen io my sense, 
Until thy cheek of innocence — 
Then, then I thought it innocent — 
The thrill through all my fibres went— * 
Was lain to mine — a recompense 
For a whole age of damning pain. 



TO • 

Dost recollect ? — You bathed my brow 

With a soft and cooling medicine ; 
The touch of thy white hand did throw 

A balm upon my spirit then, 
And I got well — you know the day 
When first I kissed your fears a\N ay — 
Your fears !-— ha ! ha ! — you mock me new- 
Fears of a thing as false as thou J 

Did ever word or act of mine 

Pain thy young feelings ? — No— 
The falsehood and deceit were thine— 

To me was left the draught of wo. 
And here we part ! — one look — a kis.s-^ 
No, no — and has it come to this ! 
Thy name will ne'er be breathed again — > 
It has been breathed too oft in vain ! 
I'll pray for thee thou heartless toy-^ 
Another look — no look of joy ! — ■ 
A fond and trusting heart you've broken ; 
Yv'e part ! — the bitter words are spoken. 

w ^ ^ ^ ^ 3? 

Away !-- -the fiend is near me now, 
•1 feel Ids hot breath on my brow ; 
He smiles to win me from my thought, 
As if I could again be caught 
By .falsehood's deep and subtle wile-- 



61 



62 TO 

As if thy failings had not taught 
How hollow were the sigh and smile ! 

Again, I feel that fever's heat ; 

Again, I feel my pulses heat, 

Like some half-hidden raging fire, 

Which for its covering burns the higher. 

My life-blood courses black and thick, 

As tho' its passage were so quick 

Along my frame, that heaven's pure breath 

Its vital portion had not lent, 

To guard against the pang of death, 

When its first action had been spent. 

But still I breathe, — and think, — -and hope. 

That in our life-time's narrow scope, 

Only a certain portion's given 

Of misery, by all bounteous heaven ; — > 

If so, that I shall soon outlive 

The greatest share that heaven would give— • 

If so, that I might soon depart-^- 

And then I'd tear thee from my heart ! 

That grinning fiend again I see 
Dancing before me merrily — 
God ! that I should be forced to bear 
Its taunting mockery of air I 






to . 63 



I see it in my nightly dream, 
In leafy wood — by crystal stream, 
And aye the demon seems to wear 
The features that were once so fair ! 
It mocks me still — away ! away ! 
Thank heaven I see the breaking day I 



TO A LADY. 



I knew thee when my heart beat high 

With many a dream of love, 
And thoughts, which then I fondly deemed 

Were whispers from above. 

Thy form seemed not then fashioned like 

The misty things of earth, 
And fancy gave thy spotless mind 

A high and holy birth. 

I weaved the lily's glowing gems 

Amid thy raven hair, 
And thought their beauties made for thee, 

Though not so pure and fair. 



TO A lADY. 65 



I loved to touch thy snow-white hand, 

And read thy speaking eye 5 
A nd dared to think it told me then, 
My hopes were not too high. 

You know the eye we wandered forth 

To look upon the sky, 
And single out the brilliant star. 

Which ruled your destiny. 

It was a vain and foolish thing, 
You sighed and lowly said, 

B ut bade me watch that glowing star, 
When you were with the dead. 

Was it that thoughts of thy blest state 
Might clear my drooping mind ? 

Or that you then would commune with 
The heart you'd left behind ? 

But time passed on — you did not die, 

Nor give the merest chance, 
That I might ever prove to you 

My vows were not romance. 

You did not die — nor show to me 

Your sentiment and truth ; 
Although the fancy ball attests 

How well you looked in Ruth. 



66 TO A XADY. 

That brilliant star is shining still, 
As pure and brightly fair, 

As when I bound the rich bouquet 
Among thy raven hair. 

And I suppose, you've quite forgot 
Our long and lonely walks, 

Our sentimental metreing, 
Our soft and dove-like talks. 

You Ihink I care — but list awhile — 

I saw the other day. 
Amid those long and jetty locks 

A single sprig of grey ! 



NIGH TV 



I look upon the stars sometimes — I love 
To watch their twinkling in the azure ground 
Of Heaven's o'er-arching canopy, where move 
Ten thousand worlds — which, starting with a bound- 
Plough with fiery track, the unseen waves 
Of fathomless immensity ; to see, 
Age after age, that sky hung o'er the graves 
Of buried nations, as a tapestry— 
A funeral canopy when dyed with gloom ; 
That sky, which, robed in majesty, looked bright 
Upon Columbus, when he sought the tomb 
Of all his hopes, or strove to snatch from Bight, 

G 



68 NIGHT. 

And claim the birth-right of a world. "Tis when 
1 view the stars, bright handmaids of the moon— 
Who walks among them as a virgin queen- 
That, with those stars to riot, seems a boon 
From Heaven ; I love to see that moon's pure beams- 
Like lightning shot upon the a\ atery waste, 
Which like a mine of living diamonds gleams — 
Each sparkling but an instant—as in haste 
To hide its liquid lustre in the wave — 
A jeweled bathing place— a starlit home- 
Fit— ay, beautifully fit to lave 
The light of worlds in upper air which roam. 



NUNC TEMPI'S. 



The flowers are springing, 

Like fairy things bright ; 
And the young birds are singing 

By fountains of light- 
Then hail ! mirth and laughter, 

And love song and wine ; 
Let sorrow come after — 

The present is mine. 
Lets' away to the shadiness 

By the cool stream, 
Where joy is forgetfulness, 

And care but a dream, 



70 KTXC TEMPUS* 

While the blush of the morning 

Is bright on the roses, 
Which, each dew drop adorning, 

In freshness discloses, — 
From old Time let us borrow 

A moment or two, 
Ere the dark form of sorrow 

Intrude on the view ! 



LOVE. 



^Twas in a high and dimly lighted hall 

(Whose gilded wainscot and rich tapestry 

Were scarcely visible) that a pall 

Was placed. Dark forms were gliding softly by. 

Which, ever as they passed it, gave a look 

That timidly withdrew itself again, 

Yet still was turned there, as if the eye took 

A pleasure in beholding what gives pain, 

Or tho' there were a superstitious dread 

(But yet it scarce was dread) that fixed her gaze 

Upon the sable livery of the dead, 

As sure as when the look of serpent stays, 

g 2 



LOVE. 

And fixes on its own its victim*s eye.**- 

Tliess forms passed on — the dead alone was there !**- 
The summer air, that made the arras sigh, 
Was all the sound that broke upon the ear. 
There is a solemn stillness in the hour 
Of midnight, when all nature's hushed to calm. 
And she, and her rich beauties, voiceless pour 
Upon the glowing soul their holy balm.— 
'*Tis at that hour that death seems doubly death. 
Then few can calmly see its cold caress, 
Who feels not then a chilling of his breath. 
To view the spirit's home when tenantless ? 
Affection tho' will stem the roughest wave 
That's caused by passion's storm on life's wide sea. 
Will face the hardships of adversity, and lave 
its cygnet bosom where the tempests he, 
And count it pleasure with the dead to bide. 
That living was the theme of love and care— 
Yea, think to watch with that one by its side 
The consummation of each wish and prayer.— 
When the warm heart is lone and desolate, 
Reft of the form whose image centered there, 
There is a sort of charm in sorrow's state, 
A pleasure joined with pain that heart must bear ;■— 
For who with feelings that are fresh and young, 
But loves to sec the source from whence they sprung. 
Altho' that source be dry, and love's pure font 
Be parched as streams that flow near JEtna's morit? 






xoye. : 

There is a charm in solitude— not that which loves 
The cold, secluded cell of anchorite, 
And looks upon each thing in life that moves. 
With misanthropic eye of selfish spite ; 
But what is felt when in a musing mood 
We sit ; above us the sky gemmed with stars. 
But that to me is scarcely solitude— 
I cannot look upon those heavenly cars, 
That wheel in endless flights, and be alone ; 
For na1 ure's breathing incense to her God, 
And any he art that feels not, must be stone, 
Tho' loss of such sweet pleasure is the rod 
To punish it. In solitude, the charm 
Which makes the poet love its influence, 
Is, that it rouses feelings new and warm, 
And opens in his mind a loftier sense 
Of things. The lover feels it too — 
But I must stop : my feelings so can win 
Me from my proper subject to pursue 
Their endless promptings, that it seems no siu 
To humour them a little. 

I have said 
In a rich hall the trappings of the dead 
Were seen. — Now by them a young female stood 
Who looked as living death and solitude, 
T**or her young face bore marks of grief and cult. 
Sou seldom see such vouthiul faces wear. 



74 10TB. 

She was quite pale ; her roses all were fled. 
She lowly bowed upon the bier her head, 
And as the light her ringlets played upon, 
They shone like neck of dove turned proudly to the 
sun. 

# # # # ? 4* 

She raised her eyes to heaven ! The crystal tear, 

That slowly stole adown her roseless cheek, 

Was like the dew drop in the spring of year 

That settles on the lily. Proudly meek 

Was her fixed look a moment ; then burst forth 

The feelings of her heart, as if in prayer, 

Or lamentation for departed worth. 

" He's gone from me ! 
My God ! with what intenseness did I love him ! — 
Just when my cup seemed nectared to the brim, 

*Twas broken suddenly. 

He was the oak, 
Round which the tendrils of my young heart clung ! — 
The storm came there — -the oak was prostrate flung — 

The tendrils were all broke ! 

The very air 
That wantoned in his ringlets charmed, 
Because it love of all its fears disarmed, 

And laid my whole heart bare ; 






Lovfi. 75 

For who could see 
The jetty r cks that shaded, now and then, 
His blooming cheek, and flitted by again, 

And rather chose to be 

A secret slave, 
Bound with the hidden chains of magic love, 
Than by confessing it restraint remove. — 

The soul of man can't brave 

The world's proud sneers, 
And when adversity and hardships come, 
And haggard want invades his peaceful home, 

Too oft his love appears 

A moment's spark, 
Kindled upon the surface of his heart, 
Within whose core the barb of true love's dart 

Ne'er left its changeless mark. 

But woman's love ! — 
It is the stay and prop of her frail life, 
-Unmixed with aught of earthly hate or strife, 

A halo from above 

It sheds around 
The object, whom its bright rays shine upon— 
A light, as when creation had begun, 

The youthful -earth first found, 



76 X0VE. 

But his was firm, 
Devoted to the being he adored, 
Tho' when I listed his betrothing word, 

His love was in the germ. 

Yet well I knew 
The seeds would take a vigorous root and spring — 
It was not my fond love's imagining, 

For he has aye been true. 

And I, great Heaven ! 
How I have loved him ! — with a love as strong, 
As that deep love which poets tell in song, 

To youthful hearts is given." 

The tears fell fast upon her snow white hands — 

She clasped them in the attitude of prayer, 

Then used them for the alabaster bands 

To curb the uncinctured tresses of her hair ;— 

They looked while rovi-g thro' her ringlets, as 

The autumn lily 'midst the bro^ nish leaves. 

It was involuntary ; for she was 

So like a youthful Niobe (who grieves, 

As poets say. in marble for her boys) 

That you might see she was the monument 

Of hope's and youth's anticipated joys 

Cut short. And dark despair had spent 



LOVE. ft 

The efforts of his strong and harrowing power, 
So graven on his lovely face the marks 
Of his fell triumph. 

Find me in beauty's bower 
A lovelier form — with voice more like the lark's 
(Who leads the matin choir in nature's praise) 
Than had this peerless lady ; yet she found 
In life more ill than the almighty pays 
As heritage to common mortals. — Round 
Her youthful form the fires of death had blazed 
Already. — In a few months her cheek 
Hud lost its ashen paleness, and, amazed, 
Her friends beheld the glowing roses break 
The spell which their forebodings had called uj) — 
The spell that seemed lo woo her for the tomb. 
They had drunk deeply of dark sorrow's cup; 
The bitter draught was sweetened, for the bloom, 
That played upon her features, strcngthed hope. — 
Deceit and death glowed in tl at hectic fjot; 
' Twas as his land which thro' telescope, 
The sailor thinks he sees ; yet finds that it is not 
She died ! 

No wonder that she died, poor girl ! 
For 'tis a grievous thing to lose the stay 
And hope of life. When dard misfortunes hurl 
Their missiles at us, even for a day, 



78 iOVE. 

Is it not hard to suffer their attack ? 

But when life's barque is launched upon a sea, 

A shoreless ocean, and without a track, 

Or mark to show the haven of felicity, 

No wonder that the barque becomes a wreck, 

Rushing to death at deaths* terrific beck* 



tf- 



"ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLISTENS." 



She is a lovely girl — she hath an eye 

Rich with the color of a summer sky ; 

A high, white forehead, melting in 

The clustering ringlets of her golden hair, 

Seeming so beautiful, that it might win 

An angel's kiss upon its surface fair. — 

I would you might but see her rounded cheek, 

Tinted with color like the rosy streak 

Of a rich, melting peach or nectarine — 

Would you not give the world like me to sip 

A maddening bliss — more powerful than wine — 

From the ripe coral of her melting lip ? 

H 



80 "ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLISTENS." 

Or drink into your very soul the glance 
Of her expressive eye ? Or press her hand 
When circling with her in the glowing dance ? 
Or read her looks which speak a music bland ? 
But stop — I'll tell no more of her, lest I 
Should weave about your sense a magic spell, 
That I might have to break unpleasantly, 
And fashion from your dreaming heaven — a hell. 

One day — it was an April day — the sun 

Was tripping, like a brisk young gallant, through 

The wide expanse of heaven's unclouded blue — 

I paid a visit to this fairy one — 

And saw — thoughts how T ye burn ! — in dishabille 

My charmer. — Shall I tell it ? — Yes, I will; 

Close, reader ! — Closer yet ! — I'll tell it you-— 

I found my lovely maid an arrant shrew ! 



THE SONG OF PLEASURE, 



•www— 



I'ix weave thee a chaplet green and bright ; 

I'll paint thy cheeks with a rosy light ; 

The power to charm shall be placed in thine eye, 

And thou shalt be queen when I am by ; 

But mark me, maiden ! the price is death, 

And its seeds lurk deep in my blooming wreath. 

STouth, thou shalt sip at my brimming bowl ! 
The glances of beauty shall gladden thy soul ! 
Where the roses bloom shall thy pathway be, 
And my smile shall enliven thy revelry ; 
But mark me, youth ! when thy days are o'er 
The favor of Pleasure shall greet thee no more. 



§2 THE SONG OF PLEASURE. 

Come to my bowers thou hoary old man ! 
Enjoy thy life though it be but a span — 
Come ! and the songs and the dances of mirth 
Shall buoy thee up as thou goest from earth ; 
But mark me, old man ! a coming day 
Will the debt you contract in tenfold pay. 

I roam o'er the world in a boundless flight — 

I make thy day brighter, and cheer up the night 

Wherever I go I invite with me all, 

And many arouse at my tempting call ; 

But they know full well that the price is high, 

Which they all must pay for their revelry. 



MIDNIGHT. 



I love to muse by the river beach, 
When the stars are shining o'er me, 

When the breaking wave doth a moral tcael 
As it flashes in light before me. 

The air is like a titleless sea 

Of pure and silvery light, 
And the waters glance transparently, 

Illumed by the queen of night. 

The crested waves as they dash on high, 

And dissolve in pearly beads, 
Appear as a carpet spread gaudily, 

Where the giant sea-god treads. 
u % 



84 MIDXIGHT. 

The stars that glance up so peacefully, 

Seem set in the river's bed, 
And the restless leaves of the poplar tret 

Make music o'er my head. 

On such a night did the Indian woo, 

And win his dusky bride ; 
On such did he vow to be ever true, 

As they sat by this river's side. 

She looked upon the studded sky, 

As he told his flattering tale ; 
Her dark eyes sparkling brilliantly, 

When seen by the moon beams pale. 

He pointed to the evening star — 

*Tis reflected at my feet — 
And told her of a home afar, 

Where faithful lovers meet. 

He told her, when this Hie was o^er, 
That they'd visit that shining isle ; 

And sit upon that golden shore, 
Beneath the spirit's smile. 

But list to the sound of that thrilling note ! 

'Tis the lover's serenade ! 
And his heart beats quick, that his lay may float 

To his own loved blue-eyed maid. 



MIDNIGHT. 85 

And she is sleeping sweetly now — 

Her eyelids darkly fringed, 
While a shade like thought is on her browv 

And her cheek is slightly tinged. 

She's dreaming of her own true love, 

By the smile upon her lip ; 
She dreams of a fount like that above, 

TVhere their wings the angels dip. 

'Tis the fount of love, as pure and deep 

As the faith to spirits given — 
? Tis blissful, for this maid asleep 

Imagines it like to heaven. 

But the winds are rising in their might 

And the clouds stalk blackly on — 
I know there'll be a storm this night, 

For the sky's pure blue has gone. 



THE TRUE PHILOSOPHY. 



-www*— 



When the springtime of youth, and its magical hours 
Are passing away from their happiest prime, 

And Age steals the tints from Life's sunniest flowers, 
To aid him in weaving a garland for Time ; — 

When the many dull cares which environ us here 
Are pressing their incubus weight on the mind ; 

For the pleasures that leave us we scarce find a tear 
In gladness for tnose which still linger behind. 

? Tis thus, that in times of the dreariest gloom, 
The heart finds a balm for its care and its sorrow 

In reflecting that 'mid all its grief there is room 
To think of the bliss it may have on the morrow* 



THE TRUE PHILOSOPHY. 87 

And, again, when the trials of life are severe, 
And death and disease stalk abroad in the land, 

'Tis joyful to know that our lessons of fear 
Are lessons dealt out by a merciful hand ! 

August, 1832. 



WRITTEN AT COLLEGE. 



-vwwv— . 



Sleep, like a healing medicine, hath come 
To brace the sinews of the o'ertired world. — 
The gentle and the simple ; those who live 
In palaces, or such as till the earth, 
Are all alike as infants in her web, 
Wearing away their moiety of life — 
The glorious half — in slumber's unknown land. 
Let them sleep on — I greet the liquid balm 
Which flows in wavelets o'er my feverish brow, 
Telling of far off climes — a messenger 
To cheer the student with its fragrant news. 
Sweet air, ere thou hadst come to rouse me up 



WRITTEN AT COLLEGE. 89 

From my dull page of science, o'er \a hat brow, 

What fairy bosom in a mortal land, 

Hadst thou been wandering ? Didst steal a kiss 

From Julia's parted lips, and list to hear 

The murmur of her dream ? Or have you been 

Over the wide sea in your wanton mood, 

Wafting the good ship to her destined port, 

Or stirring up the depths of ocean's rage, 

Fretting the blue waves to their mountain swell ? 

Or by the dwelling place of old Romance 

Hast strayed ? Or 'mid the orange groves of Spain, 

Making low music with their fragrant leaves ? — 

Flow on ! flow on ! — the sweet Smith's denizen ! 

My spirit freshens up — trite learning's spell 
Is broken by the magic of the hour, 
And my heart wanders to that happy place, 
Where first we met amid the bright young flowers ; — 
And now when years so noiselessly have fled, 
Making no record of our untaught love, 
Thought still recalls those scenes of youthful joy, 
Memory will still recur to olden time — 
To that rent bond which once had bound our souls, 



MUSINGS. 



Life lias its sunshine and its showers — 'tis like 
A child smiling through tears, whose innate glee 
Breaks forth e'en 'mid a storm of petty grief. 
Life has its changes too ! I recollect 
How different was my childhood's waywardness 
From the pursuits of study and of love ; 
Its joys and cares from those of riper days. 
Philosophy has opened her deep stores 
To me, and now I do not, dare not view 
The works of nature, as in infancy, 
When the round moon seemed as a golden isle, 
Set in a sea of azure nothingness, 



MUSINGS. ( .> 

And the bright stars as homes of happy souls, 
Released from this worlds bondage ; — the rainbow, 
As the high arch that canopied with light 
Some festival of saints in ether wide, 
Fit tapestry for such a banquet place, 
Or as the work of an Almighty hand, 
Instructing, awing, and delighting man. 
Cares, thoughts of lucre, and ambition, then, 
Will oft intrude themselves uncalled, 
Breaking the brightest link in Memory's chain, 
And darkening up my thoughts, like to a shadow 
Cast by a cloud upon some sunny stream. 



GREECE. 






Her harp strings are broken— the spirit has fled, 
That once waked the lyre on Heilas's shore ; 
The song of the muse that once caroled is dead, 
And Parnassus's heights shall be vanquished no more; 
For the land of the poet and soldier has now 
Dropped the laurels of yore that encircled her brow. 

Her prophets are mute, and her altars defaced ; 
And no trace Of what once was the pride of her land 
Can be found 'mongst a people degenerate, debased ; 
For their temples are spoils to the Musselman's hand, 
And the country that once bore proud victory's name 
To the robber and pirate has yielded her fame. 



GKEECE. 

Fair land, could the grave but its inmates release 
From the spell that e'er binds them to yield to its sway; 
Could the spirits that guided in war and in peace 
But re-enter their frames— how soon would they say, 
u 'Tis the land of my birth, tho' the angel of death 
Hath blasted her hopes by his poisonous breath! — 

And as long as yon blight oi*b shall roll in his track. 
We'll rally around her, and dauntless oppose 
The tyrant's base minions, and sternly drive back 
The crescent, fell emblem of infidel foes !" 
And now sons of Greece, as your Sires of yore, 
Take courage, and drive the rude foe from your shore ! 

March, 1828. 

[The above was among the first of the Author's attempts 
in verse, which may probably furnish an apology for it - 
insertion here.! 



A MODERN POET TO HIS MISTRESS, 



Lady ! birt list a moment to the lay 
Of one who long hath felt thy sovereign sway- 
List ! for to thee an humble verse he brings, 
Writ, as it were a copy from his heart. — 
He is not used to tell of lofty things, 
Nor bear in lofty scenes a towering part ; 
But when his soft and lowly strains you hear— 
The coinage of his soul — his vows sincere — 
List! for no fiction warms his modest lyre- 
No motives base his humble lays inspire. 
O ! he hath 1 nought on thee by night and- day ; 
Ifcr thee — ay, thee alone* — hath knelt to pray— 



A MODERN POET TO HIS MISTRESS. 93 

The world to him is naught, for but in thee 
Are centered all his hopes — his destiny — 
Thou art his Cynosure — the glowing star, 
Which sheds its light effulgent on his path, — 
That beams with glory gathered from afar, — 
Shines thro' the storm of sin, of fate, of wrath, 
And lends unto his devious way a light — 
A light from heaven — 'tis so intensely bright. 
Lady ! thine eye is as a precious stone, 
Brought from Peru or distant Araby, 
In which true love hath reared his holy throne — 
A throne that will exist while time shall be. 
Thine image is a sculptured monument, 
Raised on the ruins of his shipwrecked heart, 
To which despair and love their strength have lcnr- 
And memory too have given no trifling part. 
But lady ! shall he always tell the same — 
The same old tale of love find \ows rejected : 
And shall lie never fearless breathe thy name; 
Shall not his love by thee e'er be respected ? 
The day will come say, lady ! — will it not ? — 
In which his claims may have a hearing kind; 
(Tho* all his kindness may have been forgot) 
And you, one day or other, change your mind ! 

THE END. 




r 



m 



TjBRARY OF CgNgjEg, 



■IVrieV 969 6 




